


Don't Fuck (with) The Driver

by Aravis



Category: Baby Driver (2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Butt Plugs, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Enemas, Group Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Unsafe Sex, like this got... wayyyy filthier than I meant it to, sex couch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-07 14:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11625144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aravis/pseuds/Aravis
Summary: (Started out as a ramble on Griff inviting Buddy to double team Baby before a heist, spun WAY out of control.)Griff invites Buddy to have fun with Baby at the warehouse. Darling is voyeuristic and an enthusiastic enabler. Doc is NOT impressed. That doesn't mean he doesn't want in. Baby was his first, after all.





	1. In Which No One Succeeds at Being Sneaky (But They'll Do it Anyway)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some pretty dubious consent all over the place here. It's pretty clear Baby likes them all well enough so they should all just open their mouths first and say "please".
> 
> But they're criminals, and Baby's shy (and whipped)- bad combo.
> 
> Enjoy! (and stay safe. please heed the tags and warnings.)

Griff's arms make a cage of flesh around Baby as they fuck. His hips move rough and fast, plunging deep with each thrust. Baby tosses his head back into the pillow beneath him. He arches his back, tilting his hips up to get Griff that little bit deeper.

Baby's sunglasses are off for once, perched carefully on a crate in the corner of Griff's crash room at the warehouse. His earbuds are in, blasting some music Griff had rolled his eyes to in the beginning. Occasionally, Griff's hips match the beat, and Baby basks in the sensation.

Baby's got his eyes shut, Griff's bulk and arms blocking his view of the world. Griff, however has a perfect view of the door, and grins viciously as it opens slowly.

Disheveled, furious - Buddy looms in the space there.

Griff hadn't exactly been quiet earlier when he'd propositioned Baby to his bed, a "let's fuck for luck" kind of thing. He knew Buddy had an interest, and it would be interesting to see just how far gone for Baby Buddy actually was.

Griff locks eyes with him. He reaches down, pressing himself so he's upright, hands braced on the backs of Baby's thighs. Baby’s arms stretch to the side, clutching the sheets and letting Griff move him. It's clear Baby's here of his own volition. 

Buddy's face goes thunderous, jaw clenching at the influx of whimpering, panting moans emanating from beneath Griff. Griff lets the tension build, but decides against waiting for Buddy to make the first move. More fun if he calls the shots.

"Wanna double up?" Griff asks, cocky, certain Buddy will decline, looking furious and horny at the same time.

Instead, Buddy's eyes narrow, one hand closing the door behind him with a thud. Griff spares a glance down to Baby, but he's still lost, all other sounds drowned out by his music. Griff moves leisurely, shaking things up every now and then with a few fast, deep shoves that have Baby tightening and flailing to grip his body somewhere. Griff likes it rougher than Baby can take, but they'd compromised like this, with Griff taking what he wants in the intervals of giving Baby what he wants.

Buddy, meanwhile, has stripped naked, his clothes in a haphazard pile on the bare camp cot opposite the bed. He's hard and shameless about it, stroking himself and staring at Baby.

Griff pulls out, wraps his arms around Baby and rolls onto his back, setting Baby spread-legged on his thighs. He's prompt to get back inside Baby, who makes a little hurt sound at the quick shove. In this position, Buddy can see how Griff stretches Baby, how his body clenches tight and spasms against Griff's assault. He can't take it.

Buddy climbs onto the bed behind Baby, straddling Griff's legs. Baby stiffens, eyes flying open. He's lifting up, off of Griff, before both Buddy and Griff push him back down to hold him still. Baby groans, head falling back onto Buddy's shoulder, eyes wide when Buddy looks down at him, pupils blown wide. Buddy ruts against the curve of Baby's ass, feeling how the muscles jump with each move Griff makes.

Baby shivers in their combined grasp, fingers trailing over Buddy’s hand on his waist. Griff glares up at them, jerking his hips to fuck up into Baby. “Get going,” Griff snaps, throwing a small bottle at Buddy before digging his fingers into Baby’s thighs. He doesn't like the way Buddy can make Baby so intent, like they both go to this zone where only the two of them exist, even when he's the one with his dick in Baby.

Buddy sets the bottle down beside him and takes Baby’s hands, puts them on his ass. “Show me,” Buddy rasps, voice low and rough. Baby flinches, bright red when he realizes what Buddy wants. Baby slowly takes hold of himself, spreading himself open, exposing where Griff’s inside him, hard and impatient.

Buddy clicks open the bottle, coating his fingers before he traces the rim of Baby’s ass. Baby shakes when Griff thrust up into him, Buddy's fingers beginning to slip in beside him, stroking intently. Buddy takes himself in hand, shuffling forward and starting to press in. Baby lurches forward, instinctively escaping, cut off by Griff’s hands, clasped tight around his shoulders, holding him in place. Griff sits up with a flex of his stomach, gripping Baby’s jaw in one hand and biting his mouth open to distract him.

Buddy spits into his slicked hand, stroking himself and hooking a finger into Baby’s hole next to Griff’s cock. Baby flinches, head jerking away from Griff before he yanks Baby back to him. Buddy fits his cock into the small space he’s holding open, pushing until the head’s in, gritting his teeth before biting down into the meat of Baby’s shoulder.

Baby lets out a sharp yell before Griff swallows it. Buddy watches Griff stroke Baby through it, bites back his own moans at the fucking _tight_ he’s slipping deeper down into. Baby shudders, clenching against the onslaught, but his body can't push them out. Buddy braces one hand back on Griff’s thigh, the other gripping Baby’s side, and starts to thrust. Griff tugs Baby down, giving Buddy a better angle to work with, keeping Baby’s screams tangled up in his mouth. No sense bringing Doc down on them mid fuck.

Buddy stiffens as Griff starts to move with him, rubbing against him inside of Baby. Buddy snaps his hips harder in response, working through the sensations of friction and heat and the tightness that clasps them together.

Baby breaks free of Griff’s mouth, jerking upright and clutching Griff's shoulders, heaving huge gasps of air. Griff mercilessly strokes Baby’s cock, eyes intent on Baby's face. Buddy kisses the side of Baby’s throat, sucks hickey after hickey across Baby’s shoulders, his throat, the line of his collarbone.

Baby’s hand shakes as he manages to click to another song on the nearly forgotten iPod, and Buddy laughs loudly into his next bite at the song choice. Griff shakes his head and thrusts harder, ignoring the music situation Baby’s got going on. Buddy and Griff, despite clearly hating one another, work well like this. They feel out their timing, sense when Baby's tightening up, where he likes it, how deep they can go before he pushes at them, biting his lip and shaking his head.

Baby gasps, throwing his head back, eyes closing tight. Griff and Buddy cast each other a knowing look, hands grasping Baby’s body tighter between them, hips plunging together.

“Fuck!” Baby screams, before Buddy covers his mouth with his hand, yanking Baby back against his chest. Though Baby's not frail by any means, Buddy feels his stomach drop slightly at how his fingers nearly meet around Baby's biceps.

Griff stiffens, hips jerking up and freezing, hand bruising Baby’s thigh. Buddy shudders as Baby comes, unable to withstand Griff’s grip on his cock. Baby's fingers leave deep gouges on Buddy's thighs where he reaches back to brace himself.

Buddy can’t help but laugh (ignoring the dirty look Griff tosses him as they pull out of Baby) when he hears the lyrics drifting out of Baby’s earbuds.

_‘You feel my heat I’m just a moment behind…’_

* * *

 

   
“You fucking idiots,” Doc snarls at them.

Buddy and Griff stand a little away from Doc, giving him his space. They'd known Doc was possessive of his driver, but hadn’t really considered the fallout of taking Baby to bed.

They hear Darling’s voice from one of the far off crash rooms, Doc’s personal, and silence in response to her, before she meanders her way to join them in the main room.

“He’s down for the count, Doc,” she laughs, popping her gum and sliding into her seat, phone in hand. Darling's not offended in the least that Buddy's fucked Baby. 

Doc’s head swivels to encompass Buddy and Griff in his glare, throwing up his hands silently. A gesture meant to communicate just how stupid he thought they were. “If either of you fucking cavemen has done lasting damage to my driver, we will not be having _words_ ," Doc threatens. It's not an idle threat. Doc never fails to follow through. Buddy nods, Griff scoffs. "As it is, you’re damn lucky the situation changed at the bank and we’ve had to reschedule. _Damn_. Lucky,” he reiterates, smacking his hand against the play board.

Buddy at least has the decency to look away with a slight cough, but Griff looks completely nonplussed by it all. They were both slightly put out when their ‘wake up call’ turned into Doc blasting them six ways to Sunday over finding Baby naked, bruised, and utterly sexed out between them.

Darling smiles from her vantage point at the end of the room. Baby wasn’t going to be doing much walking today, let alone any of his slick driving. From the way Griff and Buddy keep stealing glances to Doc’s crash room, the only thing they really regretted was not waking up in time to get another round in.

Doc sets them free to do what they liked until their next meet up, telling them to get the fuck out, in not so many words. Darling uncrosses her legs and waits for Buddy to join her, hooking her arm around his. Together, they make their way over to the elevator. Doc’s at the far end of the warehouse, talking in short, clipped sentences with a contact when Darling stops, Buddy halting beside her half a moment later, waiting for what she wants. She lifts her chin, pointing to the room a short jaunt away. She knows _exactly_ what Buddy wants. Buddy grins, leaning down to give her a rough kiss before nearly sprinting away.

Darling sighs when she sees Griff doing the same, twining his way around the various pillars and tables in the warehouse in the same direction, being careful to avoid drawing Doc's eye.

She hits the call button for the elevator, glancing over her notes on the job, her schedules for the day. She hears a quiet, cut off gasp from Doc’s room before the door shuts, and sends a quick email off to their usual gal. “Reschedule tomorrow for us, love. Use card on file. Cheers - Darling.” She knows for a fact Buddy's not going to be good for anything but fucking today.

She smirks to herself, knowing that when Doc finally gets off his numerous phone calls, he’s going to flay Buddy and Griff alive if he catches them at what it sounds like they're trying to do.

Darling leans back against the elevator wall, texting. The car keys jingle softly in her hand as she types.

 _HIS: send pics._  
_HIS: vid, if you can._

Three little dots appear, and her teeth flash in the gloomy overhead light.

_HERS: For you._

She opens the picture and whistles to herself. Baby really is a one-of-a-kind kind of guy. Darling shifts, feeling a small burst of arousal at seeing the three of them wrapped together, sharing Baby between them. Even if she hates Griff, she has to admit he and Buddy work well together.

In the photo, Baby’s riding Buddy, Buddy’s free hand on his hips, helping him set a pace. Griff’s got a hand around Baby’s cock, his mouth tight against Baby’s throat, where new and old hickies fight for space. Darling can’t see Griff’s other hand, but she heard enough the night before to assume where they’re headed.

 _HIS: fuck that’s hot._  
_HIS: I’m at the car whenever you’re done_

She folds herself into the driver’s seat, turning the satellite radio to a deep, pleasing R&B. Darling shoves the seat back and smirks to herself, bringing up the picture and rubbing her hand between her legs. Buddy’s not the only one enjoying this view.

Her phone trills with a new message. Panting, she opens it. Baby’s voice spills out of her phone's speakers in broken moans, with Griff and Buddy’s deep, encouraging voices chorusing around him. Darling shamelessly puts her phone on Bluetooth and cranks the car's speakers. She watches the video, one hand sneaking back between her legs, smiles at Buddy’s white fingered grip on Baby’s thigh, shakes her head at Griff’s equally tight grasp on Baby’s waist. It’s clear they’re both inside Baby now, and it’s all Baby can do to just brace himself and take it.

Griff and Buddy take turns stroking Baby in time to their movements, occasionally switching it up (she assumes) to match whatever song comes up in Baby’s earbuds.

Darling plants a foot on the dash, leaning the seat further back. _Fuck_ , she’s getting wet over this. She licks her lips and turns the video’s volume up.

“Fuck, Fuck!” Griff yells, snapping his hips, and Baby topples forward toward the camera, mouth falling open on a sobbing gasp as he comes. The camera goes black and the mic scrapes and crackles with the movements. The video cuts off after Buddy’s familiar, drawn out groan.

Despite the technical difficulties, Darling comes hard. She sucks her fingers clean and saves the video. God _damn_.

Twenty minutes later, Buddy slides into the passenger seat, grinning like a fox. There’s a bruise forming around the top of his cheek, at the outer corner of his eye, and his lip is split, but he looks pleased with himself.

“I’d say I told you so, but I guess I didn’t warn you Doc was going to finish his call sooner or later,” Darling says, the engine purring to life.

Buddy leans across the console, kissing her deeply. Darling inhales; Baby’s faint scent is there, as well as Griff’s slightly off-putting aftershave. She licks into his mouth, digs a hand into his hair. 

“How was he?” She asks, biting at Buddy’s bottom lip as she pulls back. Buddy shifts, and she smirks at his obvious hard-on.

Buddy shakes his head, laughing out loud as he sees the video still on Darling’s screen. “Like that?”

“Sure did, baby,” she says, coyly, licking her lips. Buddy’s eyes darken. Darling can tell they’re not going to be doing any resting or planning for the rest of the day. Darling’s totally okay with that, too.

“Doc hits hard, for a white-collar kind of guy,” Buddy muses, running a hand over his jaw. They roll their eyes at each other. Doc could never pass for anything near 'white-collar'.

“So," Darling drawls, pulling free of the parking garage. "Who came out on top?”

“Me,” Buddy smiles, leaning back in his seat. He shifts his hips, closing his eyes. Darling rests her hand on his thigh, squeezing where she knows damn well Baby left bruises. Buddy's body flexes around the slight discomfort, and Darling smiles to herself, turning her eyes back to the road. They're quiet for a bit, letting the music wash over them before Buddy starts talking again. “Griff made a move. On Baby, after the fact. Doc sorted it. This was just fair payment,” Buddy finishes, smirking as he runs his fingers over his bruises.

At Darling’s look, he shakes his head. “Idiot might want a plastic surgeon, but he’s still on the job.”

“Huh. Doc has a thing for Baby. Noted,” Darling says, pulling her shades down against the morning sun, flaring through the windshield as they merge onto the freeway.

“He’s not the only one,” Buddy growls.

Darling raises an eyebrow, the car rumbling beneath her feet. “Next time you double team our driver, I’m in." Buddy nods, and she lifts her chin, pleased. Darling pulls a fast merge, cutting across lines of meandering traffic to get back to their condo faster. The more they talk about this, the more Darling wants to see what marks Baby left on Buddy, unravel Buddy like she wants, make him give up every detail of being with Baby.

Buddy smiles, covering her hand over the gearshift with his own.

* * *

  

Doc stares down at Baby, flushed, bruised, unconscious, cum-soaked Baby. In his bed.

Well, his crash bed. Still, the meaning is the same. He adds another line item to his schedule for the day, ‘Reminders, Griff & Buddy’. He’s not a hundred on what kind of ‘reminder’ it’ll be yet, but something suitably threatening.

He shakes out his fist yet again, slightly disappointed he didn't manage a better beating. Ah, well. Next time. If Griff weren't needed for this next job, and hadn't proved his worth in heists with other groups before, Doc would have killed him for the slight. While Buddy had backed off when Doc had found them in his bed, with Baby, _again_ , Griff had run his hands down between Baby's legs, mouth going to settle over Baby's throat before Doc hauled him up and beat the facts into him.

1) Don't fuck with the driver.

2) Don't fuck with _my_ driver.

3) Don't _fuck_ my driver.

Doc glances at his watch, still miffed at the disruption to their plans. It's fortunate it did happen, though, with Buddy and Griff being such fucking idiots and fucking the driver the night before a job. Christ, he's burning about that. Mentally, he adds an addendum to his 'reminder'. Both Griff and Buddy fucked Baby like they deserved it, like they had the right. Well. They'd pay for it. Literally, pay. He smiles at the expectation of their expressions at their... 'taxed' share of the heist.

Baby shifts on the bed, mouth opening on a groan. His legs lay loose, calves tangled in the sheets on the bed, body curled slightly inward on his side. If Doc tilted his head, he would be able to see the evidence on Baby’s thighs where Griff and Buddy took their time with him.

He’ll deal with them later. For now, Baby.

Doc bolts the door, not as dumb as Griff and Buddy, for one. And secondly, he has no intention of letting Baby run.

Doc tugs the sheets off of Baby, watches him turn in his sleep, mouth curling into a moue of dissatisfaction at the exposure. Doc disrobes efficiently before tugging Baby to the edge of the bed and spreading his legs. The lube he'd confiscated is useful, if unnecessary (given how slick Baby still is), but it makes Baby's body give that much more immediately to him.

Baby jolts awake with a stifled groan as Doc penetrates him. It’s not like he’s tight, couldn’t be, with both Buddy and Griff working his ass half the night. But he’s raw and Doc takes advantage, hands pressing into Griff and Buddy’s bruises, moving in slow, measured circles. From the sounds he'd walked up to, both Buddy and Griff's physical styles were about force and speed. Doc's got years on them, and wants this to last longer than a ten minute how-do-you-do. Youth isn’t everything, Doc thinks, smugly, watching Baby clutch at the sheets, eyes streaming.

“Please,” Baby gasps, pushing at Doc’s hips feebly. Doc leans forward in response and bends Baby in half, takes his mouth to quiet his protests.

An hour later, Baby’s sobbing into the mattress, face down, Doc moving quick and heavy inside him. His cock’s trapped against the bed, and Doc’s careful not to shift him too much, even when his movements get harder.

Baby’s gasping out moans, biting at his lips, hands occasionally getting enough strength to push at Doc’s hands on his hips. Each time, Doc snaps his hips until Baby submits again, ass tilting up, one knee shoved wide and up to give Doc room.

Doc gives Baby his weight, pressing him down hard, forearm laid diagonally across Baby’s back.

“Enough, _please_ …. Doc… enough,” Baby rambles, begging. His hips push back purposefully against Doc’s despite how bad he’s shaking, how much he must be hurting. Baby's inside is tight, clutching at him.

Doc leans down and bites Baby on the nape of his neck, digging in hard until Baby yelps, goes limp beneath him, ass tight and gripping around him with an obvious orgasm. Doc stays inside Baby till he’s finished, then yanks free.

Baby jerks up onto his elbows, hissing at the feeling. Doc gets up, rustles around for a minute with something out in the main room, back behind the play board. Baby’s turned slowly onto his back in the time it takes Doc to come back, and sees what Doc carries when he comes back to the room. He flounders, slipping on the sweaty bedsheets, trying to get away.

Doc takes hold of him easily, spearing his catch. Baby bites into the back of his hand to keep from screaming as Doc fits the plug in him. It’s thick, wrist thick, with a tapered neck that sucks into his ass, nestling the wider base to his skin in an instant. Baby jerks, barely able to clench down on the thickness inside him.

Doc gets up, dresses himself, wiping his hands on the sheets before he leaves, phone already open against his ear. The door slams shut behind him, leaving Baby in the quiet before he fumbles desperately with his iPod.

Baby collapses back against the bed, grimacing. He wants to disobey, wants to yank the plug out, run from the warehouse. Doc hasn't said anything. Hasn't given him any orders. But Baby knows. The plug shifts inside him with every turn he makes on the bed, and eventually, he lays flat and still, panting and hurt.

Some time later, the plug vibrates violently, and he starts screaming. The door’s shut all the way, and Baby knows for a fact it’ll be barred outside.

He lies there all day, mouth bloody from biting his lips, ass numb and raw sensitive in turns. His cock is tender, stripped from last night and the day. He’s come six more times since Buddy and Griff left, and he wants the plug out bad.

The door clangs open, Doc strides through. He tosses Baby his clothes, forgotten earlier in Griff’s crash room. “Get dressed,” he snaps, eyeing Baby where he huddles on the bed.

Baby reaches slowly between his legs before Doc ever so slightly shakes his head. Baby wants to cry but holds it in. He dresses, too tired and fucked out to care that Doc’s eyes are on him the entire time. The base of the plug is obvious through his jeans, and Baby can’t help how slow he walks to the elevator. Doc types away on his phone, unperturbed.

They get to their level, and Doc passes Baby a burner, despite the postponed heist. Doc stops him before he walks away toward his vehicle, hand vice-like around Baby’s arm. Baby shivers as Doc steps in close. Doc’s hand presses the base of the plug through his jeans with the heel of his hand. Baby’s hands shoot out, clasp Doc’s collar before letting go instantly, terrified of the consequences.

“I’ll be in touch,” Doc says, immaculate as ever, getting into his car. As he drives away, the vibration returns, and Baby comes hard in his pants, knees giving out.

He takes back routes and drives 30 going home, teeth gritted at every tiny movement. Baby chats briefly with Joe, who looks concerned at how stiff and bruised he looks, but Baby refuses to go into detail. He knows Joe is broken up over the crowd he’s running with. He doesn’t need his foster-father’s horror over what he’s doing now.

Doc calls him at 9 pm, 13 hours after he’d plugged Baby. “Take it out. Take care of yourself.” Baby sighs in to the phone, relieved. He walks to the washroom, locking the door behind him and flicking the fan on, considering shower versus the tub's basin.

“Put it back in when you’re done,” Doc finishes, the call going dead a moment later.

Baby stares at the phone, horrified, incredibly glad Joe’s fallen asleep in his chair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any wondering, this is the VERY NSFW gifset I saw which inspired my DP Baby Driver thoughts.
> 
> https://strikingexplicit.tumblr.com/post/160217598827
> 
>  
> 
> \- - - - 
> 
> This MIGHT? continue? I have NO idea if I want to make this a multi chapter thing and continue the story.
> 
> *Minor edits done to clarify some parts of the text!


	2. In Which Baby Becomes Expensive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks; I added an enema tag because one is used, but I'm not going to be writing anything in that direction in this story. It's all clean fun here! (oh my god as IF)
> 
> \------------
> 
> Also (hope this kind of shout-out is ok), thank you to Mrs_Don_Draper, whose writing is inspiring and intense and made me realize I wanted to write this.
> 
> Check out their stories! "Swerve", "Shifting Gears", and "Green Light" are my favourites!

Baby stretches his legs out in the tub, his whole body one big bruise. The water’s cooled off now, tired muscles absorbing the heat and slowly stopping their persistent shakes. 

Tentatively, he reaches a hand between his legs, feeling himself. The water had burned at first, it was unavoidable it would, with how open the day’s events had left him. Now it’s just cool and slightly uncomfortable. He’d managed to get most of the cum and lube out of his ass during his shower, biting his lip through the ache of fingering himself and pushing out the excessive fluid inside him. 

He should probably just give up and give himself an enema, if Doc wants him plugged again. Baby’s done it before for medicals, but never for this. It’s not the most pleasant way he could think of to spend his evening.  Baby gently pulls himself upright in the tub, bracing himself on the wall and edge. He’s been careful so far not to use his hip and ass muscles as much to move around. That had not been a pleasant experience, squatting to sit down in the tub. He'd been shamefully glad Joe was deaf, with how he'd shouted.

He leans over the edge of the tub, grimacing at the stretch across his back. Baby opens the cupboard door beneath the sink, yanks out the box marked ‘Baby’. Inside is various spare toiletries, old razors, an unused hair brush, and the enema he’s resigned himself to using. 

Baby fills the bag slow from the tub's tap, making sure it’s not too hot. It’s easy to slip the nozzle inside himself, and he lays back in the tub, setting the bag on the lid of the toilet above him, closing his eyes as he releases the clamp on the tube. Pressure builds inside of him gradually, and Baby carefully twists side to side, gritting his teeth and hoping he doesn’t get cramping. Twenty minutes later, the bag’s empty, and his body is quivering all over. This - this is the worst part. Holding it in and laying there, curling onto your side and rolling to the opposite side. Apparently it’s supposed to discourage cramping and encourage a better result. 

He manages maybe 15 minutes before he’s stumbling out of the tub and onto the toilet. He grabs one of the bath sheets, draping it around himself and drying what he can reach of his legs to keep himself from getting too cold. He’s glad he decided to spend some of his earnings on little things like this, small luxuries that made him and Joe a little less rough. The difference means the sheet is thicker, warmer, and there’s enough spare to clutch to his stomach in a little ball while he tries not to die. 

Because he's not stupid and knows Doc expects it of him- even if he wants nothing more than to just drown in the bath or pass out in his sheets - he does a second, and a third round. He feels incredibly empty and hollowed by the time he's finally finished, and the stupid plug slips in easily with a small shock when the head passes. He wraps the towel around himself and hobbles to his room, embarrassed and guilty that the lights are off and Joe's soft snores sound from behind his door. He should've made dinner, come out and spent time with Joe, tried to ease his father's mind like he always does.

Instead he's caught up with these sex games- and he's not even sure it's a game, to be frank. Baby slowly crouches and rolls onto his bed to avoid unnecessary movements, biting the inside of his mouth to stifle his sounds.  If this were a game, Baby wouldn't feel this sense of dread, this obligation. It's what he feels toward the driving, the burner phones that sit on his bedside table, always in arms reach. It's a neverending responsibility that scares him because he wants to do good. He _likes_ being told he's done a good job, that he's a good kid. Seeing Doc righteous and protective of him before untested crew members. Buddy and Darling, eyes wanting, touches bold and possessive. Griff, and the moments he knows he can't speak of, wrapping him in his arms, kissing the curve of his throat. 

What he'd miss if he wasn't involved in this "game" is the intimacy, the sense of belonging, of being desired. That someone would fight and speak for him, would hold him shamelessly tight.

Still, he was scared of the intensity, nervous that he was falling head first into a trap, giving himself over only to be hurt. Each time he thinks of emotional attachment, he thinks of pain. The backseat of cars, the sound of raised voices, the shattering bend of metal and the ringing aftermath. Relationships, or whatever it is he's found himself dragged down into, are terrifying, even if they're exhilarating.  

Baby curls his hands in his sheets, eyes half shut in the darkness of his room. He doesn't know what he wants.

He rolls into his usual sleeping position and stiffens at the assault on his prostate. He has one thing he wants, he decides. If Doc wants to have this kind of ... fun, Baby feels he isn't obligated to indulge him like he is now. He makes a mental note to stand his ground on this, to contact Doc in the morning.

He's too hard to sleep, so he plants his feet on the bed and fucks himself silly on the protruding plug. It's not a comfortable orgasm, or even that satisfying, by any means, but the resulting flood of endorphins sets his brain afloat enough it's easy to drift away to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Fortunately, Baby doesn't have to try to remember anything he'd told himself to do, the next morning. His head is pounding, and he suffers through gulping down the dusty glass of forgotten water on his bedside table, nearly drowning when the burner abruptly rings.

He flips it open, doesn't bother with a greeting.

"Warehouse," Doc snaps, the call cutting off immediately after.

Baby looks at the phone for a minute, processing slowly through his sleep haze. He sighs, wondering what kind of timeline Doc's hoping for arrival-wise, debating on breakfast. 

He hears Joe's chair scrape in the main room, and decides he's got the time to spare. 

Baby's not a miraculous chef, by any means, but he's learnt enough to make a mean omelette, and sorry enough for his absentee behaviour to throw in some french toast. Joe, of course, is delighted, and Baby forgets the looming deadline, enjoying the boom of music and the quiet of conversation with his father. 

Finally, he signs off his departure, feigning ignorance at Joe's fallen expression. 

 _I'll be back later,_ he signs, smiling and setting out some pots. _The tortellini from the market's still good - don't forget dinner!_

 _Don't forget your promise,_ Joe signs back, and Baby feels his smile catch and break on his face. He ducks his head, hugging his father quick and practically running to get out. 

It's easy enough to catch a bus toward the warehouse, and walk the rest of the way - normally. Today, he's tied his sweater around his waist, ignoring the judging stares on his style choices. He can't make any kind of quick pace with the thing inside of him. Baby grits his teeth and tries to look unobtrusive and not sexually-deviant when a transit officer skirts past him, checking passes. 

The sun is unusually bright as Baby limps up into the parkade, and the sudden cool of the shaded concrete makes him shiver. Now that he's alone, and there's no citizens to scandalize with his obviously tented jeans and the strange bulge at his ass, he unties his jacket and stuffs his arms into the sleeves. It's not going to shield him or anything, but it helps ease his shivers. He's not exactly looking forward to this. The usual shudders of the elevator are magnified ten-fold, and Baby forgoes any kind of appearances and braces himself against the wall, head hanging down to pant openly. 

The elevator finally comes to a stop, doors creaking ominously open. Baby sidles into the room, glancing around each pillar and table as he walks into the meeting room. He pulls out one of his earbuds, cranks his music's volume down low, gritting his teeth at the rising hum in his ears. 

Silence. The warehouse makes its usual thunks and hollow creaking sounds, but he doesn't hear any talking or footsteps. Apprehensively, he goes to the back of the floor, where they usually congregate for the play-by-play.  Baby stops dead, iPod loose in his hand.

The usual table isn't there. Well, it's still in the room, just pushed aside, chairs neatly tucked beneath it, the other tables shifted further away against the back wall. In its place is ... well, it's definitely furniture. Baby slowly circles it, constantly glancing between the room and the... couch, senses still on alert. Baby flushes, moving closer and pressing a hand into it. It's firm, covered in tightly stretched black leather, with a slightly cushioned top on all of its resting surfaces. It's a strange shape, it's top rising and falling, s-shaped. He flushes, realizing finally what it is and delicately stepping away to consider it. 

When he'd started going through puberty, being the sneaky little fuck he was, it had been easy to use some of his heist money to buy a computer, and through it, unlimited amounts of explicit literature and media. He'd not really been super engaged in any of it, merely curious about the changes in himself, and interested in how others expressed their sexualities. 

This is a fuck couch. A couch meant for sex. Sitting in the open, in the middle of the warehouse, after Doc had called him there.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out why it's there. 

Baby looks up and around the room, uncertain. Doc is likely watching from somewhere. The thought immediately makes his skin prickle, before a second thought follows after. _You asshole pervert._

It startles him, the vitriol that rises in response to this... expectation. He's used to repressing licentious thoughts against Doc. The man had somehow been omniscient and had very thoroughly made a teenaged Baby understand how pushback would be received. Yet here he is, years later, under no delusions that Doc's opinion of rebellion might have changed- feeling extremely, irrepressibly rebellious. 

If he were in his usual state ( _before this mess_ , he thinks) he would have suppressed the urge before it became a concrete thought. But this is different from his usual disagreements with Doc. In this situation, with this kind of unspoken expectation, Baby suddenly feels powerful.

Doc wants a show? He'll get one. 

Baby touches the couch, takes in the coolness of it beneath his hand. Slowly, warming to his miasmic, rebellious plan, he slides down onto it. His face flushes as the angle of his legs, lifted and draped over the curve of the couch, tilts the plug inside him toward his prostate.

It's not his first thought, but Baby finds it's natural to strip. He gets naked slowly, undoing his jacket, pushing it down around his elbows. He takes his shoes, socks, and pants off, setting them aside on the concrete. Baby flips through his iPod, eager for a distraction. Cranking his volume, Baby braces his feet on the knee rest section of the couch and fucks himself on the plug.

He's kept his underwear on, a small concession to his shyness. Baby grips the couch on either side of his head, using it as leverage to work himself up and down. There's no sudden vibrations, not like yesterday, and Baby bites his lips and cums despite his nerves, shivering. His chest feels hypersensitive, nipples catching the smooth fabric of his shirt. Baby sheds his jacket, then tugs his shirt over his head one handed. He collapses back against the couch, shimmying his underwear down to his thighs, biting the side of his hand to stifle the sound that escapes him at the feeling against his oversensitive dick.

Naked, the cool air of the warehouse assaults his senses, chilling the small drips of sweat on his back and neck. He clenches down on the plug, rolling his neck side to side and arching his back to work out the tension in his body. Baby reaches down between his legs, feels the slick left behind, the way he trembles further back, the base of the plug wet with lube and cum. 

Baby doesn't smile, but he's satisfied. _Take that_ , he lets himself think, immaturely.

Baby slumps in the embrace of the couch, running a hand over his groin before curling it on his stomach. Baby cranks his music, breathing evening out slow and steady with the beat. He drifts, uncaring how he might look. 

The back of the couch faces the door, and with his earbuds in, Baby wouldn't hear anyone come in, even if he'd been conscious enough to listen for the noise. 

When he wakes, slow and swimming back to consciousness, Griff's there, kneeling between Baby’s legs, stroking up his thighs and staring at the plug inside him. Baby shifts, licking his lips to wet them, watching Griff's eyes follow the movement. 

Griff starts, twisting in his crouch to look away, and Baby tilts his head to follow his gaze. Doc's there, and he and Griff stare at each other. Baby looks back at Griff in the interim, scanning the green and purple fade of bruises, the swelling at the bridge of his nose. Despite his initial reaction to Doc, Griff doesn’t look apprehensive of a fight, hands still wrapped round Baby's legs. 

“It’ll cost you,” Docs mouth shapes the words, and Baby subtly dials down his music's volume to listen, too tired to attempt any lengthy lip reading. 

Griff waits, thinking maybe Doc's referring to a second beating. But Doc doesn’t look primed for a fight. He reaches out, strokes Baby to life. Baby’s eyes are open behind his sunglasses, half lidded, mouth open on a quiet pant. The only noise in the warehouse is Baby's breathing, and the soft murmur of music from his earbuds.

Griff feels it when soft vibrations start from inside Baby, his thighs shaking. He glances up, sees the remote in Doc's hand, his face impassive as he clicks the levels higher. Baby's hand snakes out and curls under the hinge of Griff's jaw, curious and encouraging, before it sinks, shaking, back to the couch. 

The sound of the vibrations grates his teeth together; he'd much rather he and Baby were alone. Private, where Griff could spend his time coaxing these same sounds out of Baby by hand, instead of whatever crude silicone placeholder Doc's forced on him.

"How much?” Griff demands, wanting Baby's hands on him again, wanting to be done with Doc's interference. 

“Twenty thousand," Doc says evenly, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve cuff. The remote lays innocently on the meeting table, slim and black and unassuming. Doc's face is unreadable, for someone negotiating payment for sex. "Five more, every time you touch him.”

Griff says nothing, but they all know that’s a damn stiff price to pay for a fuck. Griff could walk down the street to a club and get anyone, no matter their popularity, for a week for the same. But instead, Griff's staring at Baby, and Baby can't help the flush of heat toward someone wanting him like this. 

“You good for that, Baby?” Griff asks, leaning in, for a moment looking as if he'd take Baby's mouth, before his hand darts out and taps one of Baby’s headphones. 

Baby flinches, tugging his head slightly to the side, frustrated. He knows Griff's got his public face on, the one everyone expects aggression and carelessness from, but it's bitter, having this treatment now, when he knows how good it can be when they're alone together. Griff may have won a small increase in Baby's opinion of him, but his disregard for Baby's hearing, and his dedication to saving face, keeps Baby from doing something stupid (more stupid than letting Griff fuck him in the first place), like falling in love with him. 

If Griff wants this, and Doc has nothing against it- Baby doesn't really have a reason to refuse. He shifts, grips behind one of his knees and pulls it into his chest to expose himself in answer. His head falls back to the cool leather, relief pounding at his temples, knowing all he has to do now is ride the fallout. He doesn't want to be part of the power play between Griff and Doc. 

Griff takes hold of the base of the plug, twisting it up inside Baby before pulling it free, setting it aside on the couch. It vibrates loudly for a moment before going quiet when Doc clicks the remote and sets it aside. Griff doesn't smile, but satisfaction blooms at the look on Doc's face as he watches them. It doesn't matter, he has better things to be looking at.

Baby clenches hard, but Griff can see how red and open he is. One of his hands joins Baby's behind his knee, pressing his thigh further aside, making Baby's muscles shake and give, opening to Griff. He sucks shamelessly on his fingers before pressing them inside, eyes narrow at the ease of the intrusion. He strokes Baby, tenses his jaw at the velvet feel of him. Baby's head lolls on his neck, exposing the bruises and veins there, unexpectedly submissive. Their eyes meet, and Baby purposefully arches into Griff's touch. 

“Fuck,” Griff breathes. “Done.”

Doc nods, walking briskly to the elevator. By the time the doors clang shut, Griff’s gotten Baby turned around and bent over the couch’s curving back, legs spread wide against Griff’s thighs. Griff's got stripping naked down pat, clothes slung aside in search of better things. 

Griff bites again and again into Baby’s neck, hands vice-like at Baby’s hip and chest. His thrusts snap into Baby, deep and relentless, nothing like the tender fuck  before. Though he hasn't brought lube, Baby's taken the initiative- his inside is wet, smooth, and each thrust is easy. Baby expected this then, wanted it, even. The thought drives him harder, growing hotter with each passing second. Then, Baby’s spasming on his cock, coming and crying out with the feeling. Griff fucks him through it till he’s choking on his gasps, clutching at Griff’s forearms. Baby presses his forehead into the couch, arches his back and curves his ass up to give Griff a better angle. Griff comes hard, burying himself deep.

Involuntarily, Griff strokes a hand down Baby's spine, curling tight around his shoulder before sliding down and twisting to feel where they're joined. Baby shivers and lifts into the touch. Griff leans forward, kisses the top of Baby's spine where his neck falls forward. Baby's hand curls behind Griff's neck, encouraging. Griff shifts his hips again and Baby presses back, free hand gripping the side of Griff's thigh, pulling him close. If Baby wants more, Griff's damn well going to give it to him.

He rearranges them so Baby faces away from him, leaning together against the back of the couch. Baby braces his feet against the upward curve of the couch and shoves himself down on Griff. Griff takes hold of Baby's waist, thrusting up and pushing Baby down. Baby clenches tight on him each time, but doesn't complain, doesn't try to keep Griff from getting deep like he had the first time. He's looser today, and Griff finds it easy to slip those last inches deeper, Baby's inside vice-like around him.

Baby rolls his hips and Griff takes the invitation, holding Baby still and increasing his pace, friction burning between them. Baby gasps again and again, whimpering when Griff fucks all the way up into him, hands pressing them closer together. Baby's shoulder blades dig into his collarbone as he twists and arches. Griff's orgasm hits him, hips shuddering helplessly in with each pulse of sensation. Baby's tired out, his throat rasping when Griff starts trying to wring another orgasm out of him with his hands.  

Baby pushes Griff's hands away to stop him, still shaking with the aftershocks of his previous orgasm. 

 Griff lets Baby's hips go and smiles at how slowly Baby presses himself up, enjoying the sight of himself slipping free. His fingers trace Baby's hole, testing the (lack of) resistance. Baby shivers before leaning back, letting Griff take his weight. Before he can shift from his slumped over position, Griff holds Baby's legs apart with his knees and slides the forgotten plug back into him, grinding it in deep with the palm of his hand, ignoring Baby's small noise of pain.

He’s not an idiot. If this is the deal with Doc, he’ll uphold it. Especially if he gets to do this again.

"Wait," Baby says, brokenly, interrupting Griff's train of thought. _I want something, too_ , hangs unspoken in the air.

Baby turns around, straddling Griff's thighs. Griff unconsciously takes hold of his waist to steady him. Baby tilts Griff's head up, runs his fingers to the back of his head through his hair. Griff tenses at the touch but doesn't throw Baby off of him, just waits. Baby licks his lips carelessly, hands tightening in Griff's hair at the expression on his face. 

Baby settles heavily into Griff's lap, skin prickling at how Griff's hands tighten on his waist, sliding around and nearly touching on his back. The plug's base hits the crook of Griff's hip and Baby sinks down onto it. Griff thrusts up to push it deeper, staring into Baby through his sunglasses. 

Baby doesn't even have to ask- Griff kisses him fiercely, angling up to take Baby's mouth. He yanks Baby's glasses off, tossing them aside to get closer. Baby flinches at the small crash they make, regretting wearing his favourite pair. He'll steal Griff's, he decides, if his are in a bad way. It's the least he deserves. 

Griff might be rougher during sex than Baby wants, but he likes the intensity of Griff's kisses the best. Griff has no qualms about taking his jaw in hand and angling his face how he wants. Baby likes this kind of domination, being led in mutual pleasure. 

Baby breaks free a while later, head falling back as he pants for air. Griff thrusts up against him again, mouth digging into his skin.

"Fuck, _fuck._ " He grips Baby's thighs tight, fingers making white points of pressure. "I want you again," he growls, taking the base of the plug in hand. He doesn't take it out immediately and Baby pauses, staring at Griff's impatient, expectant face. 

Baby spreads his legs and lets his arms go loose over Griff's shoulders. He doesn't answer- doesn't need to, just bears down as Griff tugs the plug free. 

Baby slams his hands on the top of the couch as Griff kisses his chest, one arm wrapped round his back. The side of Griff's hand brushes his ass as he holds himself steady to press in. Baby grinds back, shaking at the effort of spreading his legs wide enough over Griff's lap to take him deep. 

"God, you fucking _bitch_ ," Griff snarls, kissing Baby's throat. Baby shudders at the insult, but can't help giving Griff what he wants. It's too good like this. All he wants is to surrender. "Knew you'd be good for this," Griff continues, leaning back against the couch, eyes darting between Baby's face and where they're connected. 

Baby opens his mouth, finds that he wants - he _needs_ to say something. 

Griff notices, astute as ever. "What? Say it - fucking spit it out." Baby stares down at him, open mouthed, heart shuddering out his unspoken nerves. 

"Harder," he demands, voice low, much smoother than he meant it to be. It doesn't matter, it's had the desired effect. Griff's eyes go wide, pupils dilating. He picks Baby up, pulling out and pushing him to the floor in one motion, tumbling together off of the ridiculous fuck couch.

Griff's on him again in an instant, yanking Baby's thighs around his hips and forcing himself back inside. Baby cries out, muffling himself against Griff's shoulder. He wraps his arms around Griff's torso, beneath his stupidly bulging arms, grounding himself. It hurts, Griff's movements bruising with their ferocity. 

He's pretty sure he's bleeding. It's gotten increasingly slick since they tumbled onto the cold concrete floor - but he doesn't want Griff to stop. He asked for this pain. It's what he wants. 

Griff's kissing him again. Baby digs his hands into Griff's hair, groaning into his mouth. "Yes, _yes_ ," Baby breathes into Griff's mouth, shivering at the grating moans pouring out of his partner. 

"Can't," Griff grits out between his teeth. His whole torso is flushed with his efforts, and Baby realizes how difficult it is to get his grip, sweat slicking Griff's sides. 

Idiotically high on adrenaline and hormones, Baby arches up and licks Griff's neck, just beneath his ear. He could never do this, will never do this again in his right mind, but it feels perfect now.  "Come inside me," he hisses, raking his nails across Griff's back, "you _fucking_ _animal_." 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes a solid hour of stillness, tangled in Griff's arms in his bed where he'd dragged them both to (carried, in Baby's case, Griff's glare daring him to say something), for Baby to stop shaking. 

Griff's hand runs a smooth path down his back, sweeping from nape to hip every minute or so. Something's changed between them- it seems less threatening to him, to have Baby near and not be inside him, controlling or threatening him. 

Baby's laying face down, cheek smushed into Griff's chest. He'd somehow gathered Baby's iPod up as well when he'd slung Baby like a sack over his shoulder. His music plays softly in one ear, chords draped over Griff's chest and stretching away to the iPod laying next to them. Griff's eyes are shut, but neither of them are asleep. 

Edith Piaf croons in Baby's ear, and he curls his fingers on Griff's shoulder, turning his face into Griff's chest to block out the light. The hand pauses on his back before resuming its sweep, heat radiating from Griff's palm. His music gradually gets softer, edging into slower ballads, lower, atmospheric guitars and stringed instruments.

Griff's hard against him, and Baby doesn't think, just casts his leg over Griff's hips, sighing when Griff guides himself inside. 

It's not fast this time, and it's clearly not just fucking anymore. They stay quiet, as quiet as one could do, having sex, preserving the tentative peace in the air. Baby lifts his head to look at Griff, curious at what he might see. Before he can, Griff takes his mouth and rolls Baby beneath him. It's slow, Griff's muscles coming in handy as he cushions the sprawl and drop of Baby's limbs. He doesn't help Griff at all, just lets himself be moved, kissed, and fucked. 

Griff holds Baby, truly, this time. Kisses his throat, strokes his sides - moving slow, barely lifting his weight off Baby to move. Baby doesn't mind. Even if this is all a paid, manufactured, fucked up play-act, he's satisfied.

 _My baby,_  a voice says from somewhere, proud and playful, and the slow quiver in his stomach eases. It's a golden kind of voice, honeyed and precious. The memory is so hazy, he can't even remember who's saying it, just that he's warm and loved.

Griff's head hangs beside his free ear, lips moving slow, but Baby can't quite hear what he's saying. It doesn't matter, everything here is just a happy kind of accident, and he can be ok with that, he decides. 

Baby hugs Griff closer, closes his eyes, and drifts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God WHY do these two bring out this kind of melancholy in me? The "need-to-save-face" dynamic vs the "obviously-want-each-other" dynamic is SO APPEALING 
> 
> I definitely didn't intend for this to be such a solo chapter, but it felt weird to add in any other dynamics to this one. Don't worry, the others are going to return and have their wicked ways with Baby, we'll get there.
> 
>  
> 
> Added tags as a result of this chapter: Manipulation, sex couch, praise kink, enemas 
> 
> \----
> 
> Also fucking check out this damn couch guys I had to seriously scratch my head at how to write about the behind-the-knees curve part and how they'd use it. my GOD
> 
> http://www.divantantra.com/en/shop/


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